Upstairs

Over the weekend I walked by that place where you first opened up about your dad, where I got to know your girlfriend’s past, where we talked about pasta and laughed about movies. When we talked in This Is Spinal Tap quotes. It was 5 blocks from the Thai place where you taught us your signature move, craning your neck awkwardly to get a server’s attention. Where we celebrated you selling your first Hummer and plotted our revenge against them. The apartment above the Chinese place, next to the gay bar. Right on the main drag in my favorite part of town. Half a mile from our apartment. Close to where you could buy Saucony and cannoli. And we did.

I remembered the night you fell apart, when we couldn’t find you, when we were so worried. The night we had to carry you up those stairs and bathe you when we got there. The night we all fell apart, before we knew we had. I remembering noticing your extensive porn collection. I’d never seen anyone own porn. I remember giggling about it with your girlfriend, while we ate cold spaghetti. 

I remember the night we took a cab from our house to yours, loading up percussion as we went, drums first then bass, heading to a show in the east. How we unloaded the percussion while parked on a hill. How the bass amplifier head smashed my big toe into smithereens. How you cared for me that night. How you gave me booze and cigarettes. How you apologized every day afterwards. Including my wedding day. Including the week before you were gone forever. 

I remember smelling Chinese food coming from the floorboards the night you relapsed. As I sat with your girlfriend, bawling, worried not only about your sobriety but her own. I was mesmerized by the both of you, coming up from such depths, pushing one another to be better. Silly and tender. And we sat there, watching all of it melt away, in silence, smelling Chinese food. Oh, to turn back time to that moment. The silence. The despair. The hope for the future, it was still there. 

I remember swinging by that sign, with our hazards on, hugging, saying farewell before our long drive north. That was the last time under that sign. The last time we’d smell Chinese. Before it all changed. 

I’m not sure how I got so close to you so fast. How I felt so connected to you. I’m not sure why you tried at all with me, even after the divorce. We no longer had ties; I expected you to choose him over me. But you never forgot our friendship in the living room above the Chinese restaurant. You always remembered my birthday. You always reminded me you were there. 

Are you still?

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Messy

Intensity 

Like all the molecules in my body vibrating at once

At an elevated frequency

Endorphins firing, dopamine released.

A magnet, pulling,

Like the tide 

If not careful, it’ll consume you

Before you’re even aware.

Never extinguished,

Only running latent,

Undetected until

The eyes lock 

The ears hear the honeyed tone

The inhalations slow to sync.

Like tendrils 

Those hooks pull you under

Entangling your limbs, your vital organs

Until you’ve got the decision

Fight or be consumed.

And you lie back

Reveling in the mess.

Sin Zapatos

Last night I had a dream.

We were back in your room, 

The one by the train station.

The messy room with a wine bottle,

Once full of Maynard Keenan’s finest.

Last night I had a dream.

I was in your room,

Feeling your sheets beneath me,

Your skin rubbing against mine,

Hearing your deep, heavy breaths.

Last night, I had a dream.

We were in your room,

Wearing that Manchester United hoodie,

Long socks, no pants.

My favorite combination.

You were wearing glasses.

Last night, I was a Star.

In the room with The Wall,

A guitar I loved to hear you play,

And freshly pressed shirts.

In the room where I felt safe

For the first time.

Anoche, esta manana.

Despacio, despierto.

Por completo, cuandro sonries.

Sin zapatos. Al tiempo.

Dormido. Amor. Siempre.